Fifty Shades of Plot Bunnies, Singles and More!
by nikkistew2
Summary: John Steinbeck said, "Ideas are like rabbits. You get a couple and learn how to handle them, and pretty soon you have a dozen." This is where I'll post my future FSoG stories and plot bunnies that are in the works. Please no adoption or translation requests.
1. Indomitable

Yes, still writing a 'Blip on the Radar' and 'Letters from No-One', but here's a brand new plot bunny...

"Indomitable"

What if Christian Grey kept brawling-for sport and profit? Would feisty Ana still turn CG's head if they met another way? Meet UFC Christian Grey (who earned enough money fighting to found GEH without Elena's money).

SEE NOTE AT BOTTOM  
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Prologue: Newborn Friend (TEASER)

CPoV  
Thwack! Thwack! Smack! Thud! The satisfying sounds of my fists pounding into that huge cretin's now bloody face and at least one broken rib was wonderful percussive music to my ears. His friends had long deserted the bastard soon after I took my hand and slapped him hard against one of his ears, disorienting him. His minions broke rank and ran for cover like cockroaches in the light, leaving their leader to my tender mercies. Hint: I don't have any.

He staggered to his feet, probably wondering if his little gang got the plate number of the car that ran his ass over. I was going to take this son of a bitch down for disturbing my fortress of solitude. Then I would get his little pack one by one. They'd know I was coming, but not when and there lies the rub. These fuckers are beaten before they raise a hand because I've already mind-fucked them. Their bodies just haven't received my bill yet.

Using my elbows, my forehead, knees and feet, systematically cutting this fucker down like a tree, I almost didn't feel the small hand touch my back. Almost.

I spun around, gripping the flesh closest to me. My hand was wrapped around something soft and as the blood red rage began to fade from my vision, I realized I was choking the hell out of the little girl that started this shit in the first place. Becky or some shit. The fuckers had chased her into the darkened music room, trying to corner her for a suck, fuck or some shit. Normally I wouldn't care, but this is my space from 1:30 to 2:30. I keep it dark because I don't require sheet music, since I've been playing by ear and from memory for as long as I can remember. Being here playing piano in the dark is the closest I can get to rest and this bitch fucked it up. Too bad she runs so fast. Now this room will need to be monitored, too. There goes my calm.

I release her neck, and she tries to grab at me again! Does this fool have a death wish? Didn't she just witness me pulverizing Derek Mackey, football captain? I probably just set our team's offense back two years and she's trying me?

"Thank you," she says, her voice strained.

She's thanking me? For almost choking her to death?

"You saved me!" she exclaims. "Thank you, Chris!"

"Don't call me Chris. Nobody calls me Chris," I replied. "And I didn't save you. I was pissed at these fuckers for disturbing my independent study hour. You guys were making so much noise I couldn't concentrate."

"You're saying that you would've let them rape me if they weren't breaking your concentration? That's fucked up, Christian."

"How long have you been at this school, Becky? Isn't it pretty clear that the principal, fuck, the teachers, don't give a shit about anything but standardized test results and boosters? Look, I don't usually give advice, but make some friends and don't roam around alone. You're kinda small so you're easy pickings. Derek and the rest of his team aren't the worst things to haunt these halls, you know."

"I just moved here with my mother a couple months ago."

"Fuck! Fresh meat? Do you have a death wish or something?"

"And my name isn't Becky. It's Natalia," she said as if I gave a shit. "I haven't had time to make friends and girls here, their cliques are worse than covens."

"Yeah, that's true," I chuckled.

"So," she began, "I was thinking, maybe you and I can be friends."

"Is this a proposal for me to be your bodyguard or some shit?"

"Something like that. Quid pro quo, though."

"What do I get for my services?"

"Advice about your fighting skills. You're very good, but your form needs a LOT of work. You kept dropping your elbows."

"You know how to fight?"

"Yeah. I might've gotten away if it was just one, but I was reading and listening to music. They broke my iPod, too."

"You can't afford to ignore your surroundings. I'm not always going to be around."

"So, you'll be my friend?"

"Sure, something like that, but just don't touch me. Ever."

I had to be very clear. Maybe it would get my parents off my back if I had a friend. It didn't help that Becky was blonde like that cougar who slapped me and tried to kiss me. I shoved her down and told her if she ever requested my 'services' again, I'd come back in the middle of the night and stab her in her overinflated sacks of silicone before I took her fucking life. She must have been scared shitless because the Lincolns moved away soon after that. Grace still misses her 'good friend' so much.

I put out my hand so we could shake on it. "First things first. Rule one: I touch you. You do NOT touch me without my permission. EVER. Rule two: NEVER creep up on me from behind. What if I had elbowed you instead of choking you? Rule three: NEVER discuss me to anyone because I will find out."

"Is that all?" she asked. At least she's reasonable and she'll help me appear normal. Win-win.

"That's about it," I replied as Principal Lawrence entered the room angrily.

"Mr. Grey!" he shouted, "What's the meaning of this?"

Natalie quickly, yet surreptitiously, wound her scarf around her neck, turning to face the principal.

"What happened is that Chris just saved me from getting gang-raped inside your school, Mr. Lawrence. It's sad that my father believes this is the best private school in the area. I wonder what he would think if we were to call him away from work to address this issue."

"Oh no, Miss Evans. That won't be necessary. This has all just been a huge misunderstanding," he backtracked. I wondered how he could keep such a straight face with Derek standing next to him looking like Quasimodo. His face was beautiful! Lumps, bumps and rainbow-colored bruises blooming all over his skin only one green eye fully visible with the other one swollen shut.

"What the fuck!" mumbled Derek, accusingly.

"Natalie Evans' father, Louis Evans, is the mayor of Seattle. Do you really want him to leave city hall over a small squabble? It's just a tempest in a teacup."

Yeah, if his whole body got caught in a tempest maybe. He and the principal leave the room, with Derek pleading, "Uncle Jared. Do you see what he did to my face?"

"Fuck your face, you little bastard! Do you want me to lose my job because you and Kerry can't keep it in your pants?"

What the fuck? They're related? No wonder no chick had a chance in this place. I looked at Natalie again. This may just be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

[NOTE: NO worries. I ❤️ AnaChris HEAs. Natalie/Natalia is only ever going to be CG's FRIEND. He just doesn't see her that way and he's STILL a virgin because he snapped on Elena instead of falling into her web of lies and sexual bondage. You'll find that Natalie doesn't want CG either. I insert more than enough angst and drama without the addition of infidelity or other unforgivible acts.]


	2. Shades of Desolation (Challenge Fic)

This was my entry for FSoG Fanfic Obsessed's "A Very Glittery Challenge" - Chapter 15: Entry Number Fourteen: nikkistew2

"Shades of Desolation"

 _Summary: What would happen if the breakup lasted several months instead of days? (from Christian's point of view)_

* * *

She showed up at my door on New Year's Eve, soaking wet, bruised, covered in glitter and missing a shoe. Her other pump was scraped and missing a heel. Her short, rain-soaked sequin dress clung to her curves as she shivered in shock and distress. Yet, despite her bedraggled appearance and extreme weight-loss, she was still the most beautiful and welcome sight I had ever seen.

These past months have been hard. I'd been forced to eat every ridiculous word I had spouted off to Ana at the beginning of our short-lived relationship. I remember telling Anastasia that once she walked, we were through. I was a fool. I would never be done with her. Every room is haunted by her. Perhaps because I purchased every damn photograph that Jose fucker had on display at his art show including the negatives. He had no business pimping Ana out to the highest bidder even if the bidder was me. When I spoke to him after settling up with the gallery, the fucker had the gall to admit that most of those candid shots of Ana were taken without her knowledge or consent while he just "fooled around" with the camera. She hadn't even been asked to sign a release. What a douche.

I expected to see her at the venue, but she never showed. Then again, she didn't have access to the phone where he sent the reminder. It was still in my possession, unlike its true owner. If I was fifty shades of fucked up before Ana, I can't even determine how many shades more were added following her abrupt departure. Everything became drab and flavorless. I was numb and frozen as the elevator doors closed, separating us with a smooth whisper of finality. I knew this life wasn't for her. Why did I pick up the gauntlet? And why the fuck did she throw it down in the first place?

She was the sunshine of my days and I didn't realize it until her light was gone and everything was shrouded in darkness. The dreams of life with the crackwhore became interspersed with nightmares of Ana shutting her out of my life in every manner possible. I couldn't call her and my e-mails went unanswered, even my invitation to provide transportation to the fucker's show. Every door to her was closed unless I enlisted the aid of the ball-crusher and that avenue became a dead-end, as Elliot had fucked her over as he had many in the past. Apparently, their trial honeymoon had gone down in flames as he decided to host an impromptu final hoorah featuring scotch and strippers while in Barbados.

Leila had disappeared like a fart in the wind after slashing her wrists in Escala, prompting my abrupt departure from Savannah. She was nowhere to be found and my elite team had no leads at all, as no-one had heard from her in weeks. At the time, it seemed so important to nip her bullshit in the bud and get her some assistance, but now I see her cry for help as the manipulation it was. Like sleight of hand, I went in pursuit of Leila while Anastasia slipped through my fingers.

My acquisition of SIP, now GP, went without a hitch, but its only employee I gave a shit about wanted nothing to do with me. I wonder if she even knows I own it now that the information embargo has lifted. She'd spread her wings a little since our separation, carving a niche for herself with various editors. She had written a stunning proposal, encouraging upper management to treat interns on a floating basis to increase their familiarity with different aspects of publishing, remarking that it made little sense to tie recent graduates to one supervisor unless that person also functioned as a mentor, especially as interns seems to have an especially high turnover rate. Since the existing editors' job descriptions didn't include that role, Ana's proposal was accepted and implemented almost immediately.

This suited me to the ground as Jack Hyde, her immediate supervisor, had an alarming turnover rate. He went through interns faster than I went through subs, almost four to five a year and they never stayed long enough to qualify for promotions or benefits which is probably why his behavior wasn't flagged. He wasn't costing SIP much because he managed to hire new interns as fast as they quit. It screamed poor business practice, so I was pleased she'd managed to drag herself from beneath his thumb without my influence.

As the weeks crawled by, it was if she never existed. I thought she'd at least reach out after the helicopter crash, but I received no messages from her. The night of my birthday party, I felt like I'd hit rock bottom. I'd received messages, calls and well-wishes from everyone except who I wanted to hear from most. Surprised that my family had held vigil at my apartment, I brusquely ushered them out with assurances that I was fine, Elena trailing slowly after them.

I could envision this scene playing out differently, my parents supporting a waiting, grieving Anastasia. Instead, Elena played the sympathetic confidante to my mother. Then, she made a fatal mistake. She told me that she had a new sub with no limits to speak of that she wanted me to vet. When I looked up, I caught the vindictive look of gloating as she remonstrated that Anastasia was never right for me. Was this supposed to be my life? Was that what all the training prepared me for? Disposable sex dolls? Life as a mindless automaton, discarding woman after woman in my wake? For the first time in my life, I saw myself as nothing more than the pimp whose poison destroyed my mother. And if I was no better than the pimp, what did that make Elena?

Seeing Elena through Anastasia's eyes changed everything. No wonder she was filled with horror and disgust when she realized Elena and I remained in contact! Was this what Ana saw when she walked out on me? Elena like a ghost in our bed, egging me on to greater extremes until I finally pushed Ana away for good? I should never have expected Anastasia to be my sub. It's one thing to want to be dominated in the bedroom, another thing entirely to be dominated everywhere. She was a virgin for Christ's sake and I just tore through her innocence, declaring her open. Now she's open to the next fucker who can offer her what I never did. My idea of "more" and hers couldn't be further apart, and it would be up to me to close the distance. Everything in my life has been constrained by my fear of touch and need for control but the only thing I truly control is GEH. My submissives were no more than paid volunteers. I didn't control them; they were bought and paid for. Some of them I'm still paying for their silence and compliance. I knew one thing, I couldn't continue this way.

There was another attempted breach of Escala, only this time it wasn't Leila. An armed and unidentified male subject managed to gain access to the service elevator, but was deterred by my security team who managed to wound him. I found myself quite pleased that it wasn't just a flesh wound and the bullet lodged in his leg would prove to be painful. Whoever the fucker was would be limping for life since I doubt he sought immediate medical treatment for the gunshot wound he received from Sawyer. I hate guns, but I must admit I'm grateful Taylor won the argument allowing my CPOs to be armed even within the apartment. In view of the most recent actionable threats against me, I encouraged Taylor and Welch to increase my security team, further bolstering the protective detail for my family despite their vehement protests.

My sister proved to be quite recalcitrant until I invited her to Escala for dinner where I showed Mia her latest credit card statements and informed her that I was tired of carrying dead weight and I was looking to streamline my expenses. It's not like I expected her to, gasp, get a fucking job, but the least she could do is assist me in keeping her alive and unharmed. I reluctantly showed her a few of the less violent threats against my family and her specifically. She marched her narrow ass out of my apartment with a huff, but took an additional CPO on her way out. Progress.

My team and I hammered out a new security protocol and my proscribed list had trebled. Although Elena wasn't on it, her access to me was severely curtailed, especially as I lined up numerous back-to-back business trips, ostensibly to closely examine several prospective acquisitions but mainly to stave off unexpected business meetings with Elena as she began to drop in at GEH with stunning regularity. Her determination to keep me balls-deep in submissives was highly off-putting now that I gotten wise to her tricks. I considered myself a fairly astute man, yet I relied on her for every aspect of my personal life. There was no reason for me to remain affiliated with Esclava. Neither could I imagine gifting her two million dollars in equity. Maybe I should gift them to Mia instead as she and my mother use the salon faithfully. I own more and more shares in Esclava every year as I reinvested my dividends and plough them into the salon instead of taking what seems to be peanuts out of the business. Elena draws from the salons frequently, steadily losing equity. If this was tug-o-war, Elena would be faceplanting about now. If she was smart, she would have stopped poking the tiger.

I found myself bringing in the New Year alone, as not even Gail or Taylor were in residence. The apartment seemed more sterile than ever, utterly devoid of anything remotely festive. There wasn't even a Christmas tree to dismantle. It was as dull and lifeless as everything else in my life. Perhaps nursing a scotch alone wasn't my brightest idea, but maybe some preemptive self-medication would help me find some dreamless sleep. The first clue that things weren't going to go to plan was the warning chime of my private elevator though all the codes had been changed but one. The next hint was the almost silent swish of the elevator doors opening. The body stumbling hurriedly into the entryway halted every other thought in its tracks.

Her pale skin was liberally mottled with bruises, and her spangled dress dripped on the marble tiles. Her body began to collapse as if invisible strings supporting her had been suddenly cut. Her protruding rib cage and hipbones were evidence of many missing meals. She looked like I felt: starved.

"Chris—" she murmured as she fell bonelessly into my waiting arms.

"I got you, baby," I responded to her unconscious form, pressing my lips to her temple, "I got you."

I picked up her slight form, carrying her into the master bath where I swiftly divested her of her saturated garments. Even her hair was soaked. I grabbed every towel from the rack, drying her as carefully as I could, especially as I noticed that her body boasted extensive bruising even beneath her dress. Had she been mugged? I squeezed out the majority of the water from her hair, wrapping another towel around her head like a turban to absorb the remainder.

Although I had her abandoned clothes moved from the sub bedroom to my closet, I dressed her in one of my softest t-shirts and a pair of my boxers. She reminded me of a little porcelain doll with her long, dark, curling lashes and creamy face against my navy blue bedding. I could almost pretend that the bruises were shadows if I hadn't seen the state in which she had arrived. I removed the towel from her hair and finger-combed her thick tresses. Gently turning her head, I loosely braided her hair into a long, lustrous plait. I sat on the edge of the bed, watching her get some much-needed rest. Her even breathing lulling me into a stupor, I found myself lying beside her…

I woke up to Ana murmuring and thrashing in the bed, and though she was making contact with my no-go areas, my body didn't react in its instinctive manner. Instead, I pulled her to me firmly, attempting to sooth her and far from the usual jolt I received when we touched, my entire body felt electrified. She felt so soft and warm cradled in my arms. She was mine. She _is_ mine.

Discussions with Flynn after Ana left alternately discouraged and infuriated me. After the crash, however, his questioning delved deeper. No, I didn't love her. I couldn't love. _Love is for fools_. When I snidely dropped that little nugget of wisdom from Elena, Flynn snapped.

" _So, love is for fools?" he asked blandly._

" _Yes."_

" _Is Mia a fool?"_

" _Well, she's a little scatterbrained, but I wouldn't label her a fool."_

" _She loves you, doesn't she?"_

" _Well, yeah, but she's my sister. It pretty much comes with the position," I stated confidently._

" _That's completely false. Much of my practice is comprised of patients who are not loved or don't feel loved by their families," replied Flynn. "And your parents, are they fools? They love each other and you."_

" _Grace and Carrick are an exception to the rule. And they have to love me because they are my parents," I said slowly. Why were we having this conversation? I'd rather him ask questions about the crackwhore. I'd be just as obstructive, but I wouldn't be nearly as pissed._

" _OK, let's pretend that I agree that Grace and Carrick love you because you're their son. That they have to love you because you're Christian Grey. Why then did they love Christian Fields enough to adopt him? They didn't owe Christian Fields a tinker's damn. He was a ward of the state of Michigan. Why did they choose you? They were young, educated, successful and rich! I'm sure they could've practically had a child bred to order. They didn't need the orphaned, mute and mutilated, undernourished bastard son of a crackwhore. So why choose you to pamper and place in the lap of luxury? What made you so special?" he inquired. The questions kept coming and I had no answers because Flynn was right. The Greys never owed me shit and if they said they loved me, they must have meant it because they had no reason to lie unlike that bitch who needed to separate me from my family so she could fuck and beat me._

" _My mother and father love me!" I shouted._

" _They were Grace and Carrick before. Do you use their names to keep them at a distance?" he asked calmly._

" _That's what Elena has always called them. I guess I began thinking of them that way, too."_

" _OK, we're not going to talk about the fact that your sexual relationship began when you were a minor because even minors have sex, but isn't it strange that your mother's best friend was having sex with her child? Didn't Elena say that your family would turn away from you if they found out about your arrangement? If that's the case, and Elena was such a good friend and such a great influence in your life…why would she put your relationship with your family in jeopardy? What would be her motivation to separate you from your family or separate loving parents from their child?"_

 _He continued, "If you woke up one morning and the Greys acted like you never existed, if they no longer wasted your precious time inviting you to their tedious family gatherings, would you be happy? Or would Elena be happy? After all, she'd finally have you right where she wanted you: all to herself."_

During the next session, he challenged my reaction to Ana leaving me. He asked me what I had to offer someone like Anastasia. He even gave me a pen, paper and five minutes to make a list. Once the list was completed, he had me read it aloud. He nodded and hummed in all the right places, but I was floored when he said that most of the things I listed were things she could do by herself with a little luck and timing.

" _Christian, you've been conditioned to appreciate women who have little to offer you but their bodies and their compliance. You've never really had to earn a woman's love or trust. You've never even needed to pursue one. A woman like Miss Steele would require and demand more from a man than a hard cock and a bank account, no matter how large," he stated succinctly. "You believe because you know her body, you know her. The real Anastasia is the one that could love you and still walk away to save you both irreparable heartbreak. She tried it your way, but couldn't continue and preserve her dignity. Next session, make two lists. The first list should contain what you think you would need to do to have Anastasia in your life. On the second list, write everything from the first list that you'd be willing to do to make it happen."_

Holding Anastasia against me for the first time in months awakened something desperate and primal deep inside me. Her smell surrounded me and I wanted to drown inside her and plumb her depths with ferocious urgency. My control was hanging by a ragged thread which snapped when she began to subconsciously grind her core against my crotch. She was still topping from the bottom in her fucking sleep!

My name moaned in a whisper provided all the consent I needed as I hooked my finger in the waistband of the boxers she was wearing. Her hips thrust upwards towards my hand as her heat scorched me. I pulled the boxers down, discarding them as I settled between her legs. Was she still sleeping? Were we already making love in her dreams?

"Christian, I need you," she murmured hotly, pressing her core against my face, my stubble moving along her small tidy patch of hair inhaling the sweet, pungent aroma of her arousal. My tongue gently attacked her nether lips as they made a slow circuit to her clit, tapping it lightly with my tongue. I wanted to consume her pussy like the rare delicacy it was. Never breaking contact from her core, I allowed one finger to caress her slit, slipping shallowly inside her pussy. I wanted her to know that I could be gentle and take her needs into account. Her hips began to sway back and forth, fucking my face and finger as I added another finger to scissor within her painfully tight passage.

"Ugh, Christian. Yes!" she panted. The yes was appreciated but not the one I needed. I needed more consent. I wanted her eyes trained on me as her body took me in. I was unnerved and practically unmanned in this twilight communion. Slowly moving my body up her body, my fingers continued their ministrations. My other hand grasped a breast, kneading it, paying special attention to her pert nipples.

"Ana," I groaned, needing more of her, all of her. Her head turned in the direction of my voice and her eyes opened, revealing her sky-kissed blue eyes. Her hand reached up and cradled my jaw. She leaned upward, touching her lips to mine for the first time in months. "Chris—" she began, as my lips pressed deeply onto hers, dominating the kiss and sharing her succulent nectar. "Let me," I implored as I stroked her clit firmly, my hardness rubbing against her softness. She nodded in assent and I guiding myself in her recesses. Aw, she was tight, holding me securely and wetly. I glided within her, rocking into her for long moments, my length becoming slick with precum and her arousal. Our eyes met and she threaded her fingers through my hair. This is how our first time should have been.

Her leg was hitched around my waist as I fucked her deeper and harder and she moved against me with equal fervor. Suddenly, I changed positions, rolling us over so that she was on top. She tried to pull away, uncomfortable, not knowing where to place her hands. I wrapped my arm around her hips and used one hand to pull her up and push her down on my erection. I used my other hand to remove her hands from my thighs where there were currently resting, drawing them to my chest despite her protests.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," I replied dismissively. Only she could touch me like this and if it burned, we'd go down in flames together. She began to ride me in earnest and our bodies rocked together in unison. Her abdominal muscles began to contract and she began riding me with abandon, her inner walls rippling and squeezing me tightly. I could feel my release building and hurtling towards completion in concert with hers. She leaned sideways, encouraging me to take control and get back on top of her, maintaining the same delicious rhythm.

I pressed her to the mattress as she began to buck wildly beneath me, her ragged gasps betraying her precipice. Her muscles squeezed my length as I thrust inside several times, spearing into her as I swept my thumb in tight circles over her clit. I felt myself growing larger, squirting my release for long moments as her thighs gripped me, her pussy gyrating and contracting in deep spasms. I filled her with my essence, painting her wall with streams of cum as she bathed me with her juices. I held her to me tightly, rolling to the side so I wouldn't crush her small frame. Deep, shaky breaths broke the silence.

"What was that?" she asked shyly.

"That was me telling you that I love you with my body," I said.

"'With my body, I thee worship?'"

"Something like that."

"Christian, we have to talk. Something happened tonight before I came here. The NDA I signed kept me from contacting you, and I thought you had cut all ties with me—" she said as I cut her off.

"I emailed you at least once a week since you've been gone!" I shouted.

"Christian! Listen! I know that _now_. Someone has been diverting my mail since I began working at SIP. I found out tonight when Jack Hyde tried to attack me. Elizabeth Morgan is helping him. She's the one that gave me drugged champagne. Luckily, I don't like to consume open drinks, so I poured most of it out and pretended to down it all, so I only became a little disoriented. Christian, Jack is the one who sabotaged Charlie Tango!"

"What the fuck!"

"He admitted it tonight when he tried to hustle me into his van. Good thing he had a limp or I never would've been able to overtake him," she said.

"He has a limp?" I asked calmly, my mind racing.

"Yeah, it's the funniest thing. About a month or so ago, he came to work using a cane of all things. He claimed it was an old injury, but a few people at the office said that was a total lie. Personally, I hope one of the interns kneed the hell out of Captain Space Invader."

"So, you didn't come when you thought I'd pushed you away, but you came here tonight to keep me safe, even though you would have been breeching our agreement?"

"I couldn't let someone hurt you when I had information that could prevent it. Besides, what would you sue me for? My student loans?" she asked sassily.

"You and your smart mouth," I said, jogging to my office, where I opened the safe and pulled out her file and the NDA. I brought them with me to the bedroom and dragged Anastasia from the bed, as she desperately snagged a sheet in which to cover herself, drawing her into the great room where the fireplace was burning.

"Why are we here?" she asked grumpily.

"We're here to correct a grave injustice," I stated.

"OK, I'll bite. What injustice?"

"Once upon a time, I told a beautiful, innocent woman to fuck the paperwork and then proceeded to bully her to sign anyway. This," I said, brandishing her file, "is me rectifying the situation," I continued, ripping the file in half, ripping it again and tossing the pieces into the fire.

"Yeah?" she asked, giggling.

"Yes. If you stay, there will be no more rules or punishments."

"But you need control."

"I need you, and you don't like it. We'll talk about my epiphanies another day. Happy New Year, Anastasia."

"Happy New Year, Christian."


	3. Fifty Shades Between Ebony & Ivory

A/N:Probably won't be doing anything with this until Fall 2017.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the Fifty Shades Trilogy or any of its offshoots. Fifty Shades, Christian Grey and Anastasia Steele are the property of E. L. James, and are not my intellectual property. No financial gain has been or will be derived from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only. Any text used from the Fifty Shades Trilogy is used under the fair use allowances of various copyright acts. Besides, if I wrote it, Jose would still be trying to evacuate his balls from his lungs, Kate would have been handed her walking papers along with a bad-timing award for bring CG's bondage contract to his birthday party and Anastasia would've at least handled or experienced a real-live cock before Fifty's even if she didn't suck or fuck it.

THIS CHAPTER IS NOT BETA'D

 **CPoV**

Another tedious quarterly audit of the Mile High Club. Of course, it's successful. It's mine, built by my brother Elliot to my exacting specifications. The Mile High is _the_ place to see and be seen and the ability to gain a reservation can determine the success of a business venture. The club boasts several levels: the large elegant dining room with its private dining suites, reception area, conference rooms and finally the dance level anchored on the left by its hand-crafted wooden bar with its almost mirror-polished sheen. Silver and gold accents with and eclectic, automated lighting scheme conveyed an edgy, youthful vibe, perfect for those who use the facilities to make more personal connections. Unfortunately, this review coincided with the busiest night of the season which meant his visit could be filled with unwelcome distractions because if there was anything more popular than the Mile High, I, Christian Grey, Seattle's Most Eligible Bachelor and major circus attraction, was it.

As I walked into the room, a veritable storm of en masse primping, propping, lip-licking, skirt hiking and hair tousling took place. This shit was ridiculous. It's not like I saw them anyway. Like visiting a zoo, one goes to view the attractions, not take the exhibits home. This club was just another opportunity to experience the local wildlife. And the hunt was on, the women were fierce and the men were horny. I could practically smell the pheromones and the profits. This was a good investment. I perused the documents the club manager placed before me, and everything checked out. In fact, I had underestimated the returns on my investment. Pleased with my decision to gut the property and rebuild, I took a second glance of this evening's guests and my eyes landed on the scene of a spectacular brunette being dragged by an insistent blonde onto the dance floor. Dismissing the manager with a nod, I noticed the fucker's eyes riveted on the two women, his eyes darting between the buxom blonde and the Amazon princess being pulled to the center of the floor.

She was tall and slender, yet curvy in all the right places, sun-kissed in a way that made me wonder if she was that beautiful color all over her body even under that flimsy excuse of fabric masquerading as a dress. It looked like a couple handkerchiefs held together with thread and promises that were made to be broken. And her hair hung in curly, unruly waves past her full ass, filling me with fantasies of wrapping my hands in it as I plowed into it. And fuck could she move! The two women were now dancing together and the blonde was rubbing her body provocatively against the goddess in electric blue. She looked so fabulous from the back that even if she had a face like a horse at this point, I'd still grab her hair like a set of reins and ride her to the finish line...

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	4. New Position

A/N: This is just a story prompt that popped into my head this evening. I was considering the possibility of Christian Grey hiring a woman to be his woobie instead of a submissive as a form of DIY touch therapy.

The help wanted ad boasted only three words in tiny print:

 _Nude body needed._

Was it posted by a sculptor or a photographer, I wondered. Or a budding amateur serial killer in need of a future cadaver? Nothing could have prepared me for the position as a live-in comfort object.


End file.
